Index of Coincidence
by Ex Astris Scientia
Summary: Jim could remember the exact moment in time when the Vulcan walked into his life. Hell, it was when he actually started to live it..k/s slow building.
1. Chapter 1

_It is no great wonder if in long process of time, while fortune takes her course hither and thither, numerous coincidences should spontaneously occur._

-Plutarch, Plutarch's Lives

~ooOOoo~

He didn't know at what point the grey dirty ceiling of the San Francisco subway grew a pair of dark black eyes.

No, he didn't know _when_ exactly, but it had happened...at some point.

Yeah.

Maybe it was sometime after those clipped and brisk footsteps had walked into the terminal, breaking the pure sweet silence of the location and setting his teeth on edge, the noise getting closer and closer before passing him for a few more frustrating steps and then stopping. Then there hadn't been a whisper of a sound afterwards for a long time and he had sighed appreciatively.

Either one: the owner was still standing there waiting for the train, or two: the person was dead.

...Whatever.

Perhaps it had been when he was forced to close his eyes sometime later to stop the dizziness which would have had him deposit the entire contents of his stomach, a destructive combination of alcohol and not much else (compliments of his 21'st birthday) onto the equally dull grey pavement beside the metal bench he was presently sprawled on, arms thrown outwards with one leg hanging precariously off the side of the cool metal surface while the other dragged along the floor. Yes, that was possible. He always tended to sit down after having one too many...or five too many. Meh. It was quite surprising that he'd actually made it to some form of sitting device rather than the closest and most available piece of wall in sight, to be honest. Well, since he _was_ always the one to portray the perfect social image on a daily basis, it was only right that he did so. He internally snorted and shifted slightly, feeling the coolness of the seat creeping slowly into his back as he stared upwards into the ceiling's eyes.

He could feel the bare toes of his left foot, cold and partially frozen, scrape against the grainy ground and he realised, that at some point, he would need to go shopping for a new shoe. His previous one had seemed to have disappeared sometime during the night. Perhaps it had been waylaid at that last poker game he'd played at that bar with the Andorian waiters?

No, that wasn't right. He frowned. That had been his watch he'd lost then. The only one he had ever owned in his entire life. Lost within a flourish of cards, a rumpus of raucous laughter and a putrid smell of cigarettes and cheep beer.

Damn.

Could you even buy a single shoe anyway?

The eyes above didn't shift or move from his face, even when they blinked and he could do nothing but stare right back, eyebrows raised in a half hearted attempt at curiosity.

He couldn't really give a damn that the ceiling had decided to be all alive and stuff. Hell, it was a free country and it could do what it bloody well liked so long as it didn't stop him from getting on the next train outta this place and somewhere as far away from it as possible. Maybe Alaska. Or Australia.

Something beginning with A.

Or E possibly.

And anyway, he'd seen weirder things than some eyes on a wall...

...well okay, he _hadn't_ seen weirder things_,_ but his tongue felt like sandpaper and his mind seemed to have disjoined itself from his spinal cord and was in the process of oozing out of his head and onto the bench and swirling around to some random tune which had been stuck in his brain and was playing like a broken record player for the past ten minutes and, quite frankly, _he couldn't care less_.

So suck it ceiling-eyes, you don't scare _me_.

The annoying song continued to buzz within his head, bouncing around to some complex drum beat he had long forgotten. Maybe it was the remnants from some dance club of such and sucha name which he had paid a visit to and danced like crazy at during the late night.

Or early morning.

It was hard to tell whether it was night of day when he was stuck in the underground. Everything was always constantly lit up by that pale and sickly fluorescent lighting which made him look like an anaemic, malnourished, homeless person.

That he was, _in fact,_ homeless, was not currently being discussed at the moment in time and he would do everything he could to never, _in fact_, go there. Because there wasn't anything there. Just pain, and that sort of thing seemed to lessen if you didn't think about it for awhile or just ignored it.

Which he wholesomely intended to do.

He wasn't going home. Not now, not ever. He had settled on that fact a long time ago and he wasn't one for going back on his words. Nothing could force him to. Nothing.

Home wasn't where the heart was.

Not for him.

He closed his eyes tightly once again, pressing them shut against the world as well as the beginnings of a jabbing headache at the forefront of his skull. Maybe when he opened them again everything would be back like it used to be when he was younger and during a time when everything seemed nice.

Not great, no. Just...nice. And simple, just so damn simple.

And maybe those eyes would be gone to.

"Are you in need of assistance?" a low, distinctly male voice suddenly inquired out of absolutely nowhere.

Oh yeah. He was in need of _assistance_ all right. The special kind. Some hardcore psychology treatment with some idiot who thought the world was his oyster or some other such crap like that, and who couldn't get the freaking point that asking ' and how do you _feel_ about that' about every stupid thing was going to get thrown out the nearest ten story building window. He'd already driven a few of those apparent "experts" up the wall already and he wasn't fazed at doing so again if need be, just to get his point across.

Or driving a few things of cliffs if it so happens.

Might as well lock him in the nearest mental facility and hide all the sharp pointy utensils.

Huh. He'd been told that his mood got rather self-deprecating when he drank a lot though it was interesting to see it in the process in all its shining yet detrimental glory, he realised blandly. That he was actually coherent enough to see such a thing occuring however, was quite a strange phenomenon. He wondered who he had to blame for that.

"Are you in _need _of _assistance_?"

The voice from before had gotten louder and maybe just the slightest bit irritated. He winced as his head throbbed from the increased volume, wondering who the guy was who he would have the pleasure of strangling within a few moments if he didn't find the decency to _shut the hell up_. Or, well- he would_ try_ to at least. It would be something of a hard feat, especially if he intended to remain standing during the entire venture.

Maybe he could just glare at the guy _really_ intimidating-like.

Yeah, that could work.

He opened his eyes.

Light assaulted his vision which he swore to the heavens wasn't there a second a go and he groaned loudly as his head near ripped in two with pain which had suddenly doubled. Nausea hit him and he repressed the urge to gag because damnit, he was _not_ going to throw up here. His stomach rolled uncomfortably and he swallowed, the feel of salvia sliding down his throat into an empty stomach repulsive to say the least. There was also a sickening taste in his mouth which he was only just realising, a revolting acidic tang. He quickly identified it.

Ah. So he had already been sick.

Somewhere.

Perhaps then, he would be saved from such an experience in the so near future. Preferably until he got to somewhere which _wasn't_ a public transport facility.

His stomach rolled dangerously.

Or not.

Fuck.

He closed his eyes, shuddering as he did so, feeling incredibly cold all of a sudden. It was likely due to a combination of lying on a freezing iron casted bench and not wearing the coat he had started out the night with. He clenched his hands tight, feeling his- not so looked after nails- dig into his palms as he did so. He was definitely not playing poker ever, _ever_ again in his entire life without some form of supervision present.

His mind wavered as it threatened to slip once more back into sweet unconsciousness. He knew he shouldn't sleep though, that the train would be coming soon and that he had already missed countless beforehand by doing exactly that. If it was night, he didn't exactly want to get mugged, though what they would _steal _was way beyond him. And if it was close to morning he really didn't want to be here when the early workers began to filter through the station. He'd probably get pulled up on indecent behaviour or _loitering _for all he knew when the first cop happened to pass through. And spending the mandatory 24 hours in a prison cell really didn't float his boat though it _did_ give him somewhere to crash for the night...uh...day.

Guh.

An impossibly warm hand touched his face, fingers caressing his cheek and he sighed in relief, leaning into the contact slightly as the heat quickly spread chasing the cold away. It almost tingly in its presence. He felt his mind awake suddenly, a small spark, like flint crashing intently against a stone.

Wait...what?

His eyes shot open and he flew upwards into a sitting position, fingers falling and spark extinguishing. He gasped as he did and what seemed to be a knife went straight through his head. He dropped his face into his hand, moaning. Unfortunately, the contact wasn't as soft as he anticipated and the resounding slap as flesh met skull ricocheted through him, forcing a breath out of him as he saw stars for a moment.

"Damn it!"

He unthinkingly wrenched his head up, removing the offending appendage from his forehead and then just as quickly regretted the move as everything instantly spun. He grabbed onto the bench for all it was worth, blinking as his eyes watered. If he wasn't physically swaying then he would be incredibly amazed. He momentarily tried to focus on whatever was in front of him. Those same black eyes, though now wide open, once again sought his gaze and became combined with sever and strange eyebrows, a perfect cap of black hair and really pale skin, flushed slightly green.

There was something not quite right...or different...or...

He couldn't get his stupid mind to work.

He ripped a hand off the iron bench and roughly grasped a shoulder to pull the guy in front of him closer, his shoudlers slumping forward as his back gave out from the exertion it sure could have done without for the next 48 hours or so. It cramped painfully. He winced lightly before forcing his eyes to clear, squinting them slightly and hoping he didn't look like some crazed idiot with a twitching problem in the process.

Heh. Too late.

The guy had jerked forward at his abrupt action the perfect face coming to rest mere centimetres away from his own, black eyes boring into blue with a flaming intensity. Heck, as if that didn't make his stomach squirm. A completely _unnecessary_ reaction at the moment. But God, he could practically _see_ the heat radiating his way, warm and comforting almost and utterly _unnatural _in all regards. It was more intense from the direct contact he was initiating and he looked down at his hand completely amazed.

"Wow. You're real hot," he slurred, mouth disgusting and fuzzy, patting the shoudler lightly like the dark material which covered it was some sorta small furry animal.

Which he really shouldn't have done.

Rapidly, the world was tilting and he was falling, eyes rolling upwards into his head as he apparently lost the fight of the effect of the Earth's -9.8 gravity on him. His body collapsed sideways and one leg remained still attached to the bench as the side of his face met the floor with a sickening crack, his teeth clacking against the stone pavement and arms tangled limply around his body.

Brilliant.

The floor, it seemed, was even colder than the bench.

* * *

Guh. I might have just shot myself in the foot with this. It could be great downfalling, my glorified crash and burning statue. If I manage to get past three chapters of this .Be Amazed.

This is probably counted as an AU, however me and lingo fight each night before we go to bed so I wouldn't know. Newbie, remember?

I know alot of authors may give all ye readers out there a brief outline about whats going to happen in the story but... in a past life I was annoying.

Thus, I still am annoying now. HehXD

All I'll say is that 'ceiling-eyes' is going to have his work cut out for him for awhile.

...Yes, I _was _in factcruel and hearltess in a past life, why do you ask?


	2. Chapter 2

Surprisingly enough, he didn't lose consciousness.

Though, that was from no lack of effort on his part.

He tried. He really did. But it seemed that some God above had decreed that he would have to put up with the blinding and splitting headache he had acquired for the next few minutes at least. Until, he presumed, it either blissfully went, he got a hypo for the pain, or he knocked himself out.

Unfortunately, only the last one was looking at all plausible at the moment and he wasn't really that thrilled about it.

He shifted uncomfortably as something dug into his side. Perhaps he could just lie there until the train came. If standing up just meant falling down again then it wouldn't exactly be a genius thing to go do now would it. Except for the fact that he was really uncomfortable and the muscles in his left leg were staring to seize up from the uncommon angle it was twisted in. It was also really cold. And damnit if he didn't _hate_ the cold with a vengeance.

He sighed heavily, finding the strength and effort to unhook his stuck leg from off the bench and let it fall to the ground, sprawling completely in the dirt and grime of the subway floor. Lovely. He grimaced as he rolled over so his face wasn't plastered on its side, feeling the sand and fine rock particles poking into his back as he did so. He landed with a _thump _andstared at the ceiling above him glumly, his head swimming. Weren't there people or machines that monitored this sort of stuff? Cleaning bots or something? A person could catch their death in conditions like this. Okay, so most civilised people probably _wouldn't_ be in this sort of condition, but that didn't change the fact that he may have to go get a tetanus hypo sometime between when he scrapped himself of the floor and the point at when he shaved and finally cut his toenails. Where he'd have a shower was anyone's guess.

"I would again inquire as to whether you are in need of help, however I believe you are not coherent enough to estimate your own abilities."

Oh, well now. Ceiling-eyes seemed to have gotten a bit of a mouth on him.

He snorted unattractively and just as quickly a jab of pain erupted at the front of his head. He winced and closed his eyes, attempting to settle his mind as well as his stomach which had suddenly decided to wake up from its momentary hiatus.

"Well aren't we freakin hysterical today," he eventually rasped out, the lilt of sarcasm all but lost to the roughness of his throat. When it seemed he could open his eyes without being completely sick, he did so before tilting his head to the side and looking at black shoes which, from his point of view (something of a few centimetres away) appeared to be absolutely immaculate and impossibly shiny.

Seriously, who did this guy think he was?

"Though it is likely you cannot control your speech patterns adequately and are incapable of comprehensible thought, I believe that the human race as a species is quite proficient at exhibiting and highlighting emotional responses and reactions caused through varied situations and circumstances into which they are placed."

He blinked.

The hell?

He forced his arms beneath him, elbows and lower arm pressed against the dirty floor. With a will he really hadn't expected he possessed, he pushed upwards, lifting his back from the ground with a well placed groan as the entire length of his spine clicked and shifted into place. He shifted around until he was in something which resembled a comfortable sitting position before looking out at the subway rails with bleary eyes as he leaned against the palms of his hands, shoulders slumped forward.

"As of such however I do not believe I understand your analysis of the situation. In what exactly do you find humorous?"

The corner of his lips twitched and before he realised what was happening he was laughing, vaguely aware of the sound as it rebounded off from the white walls around him and disappeared down the long dark tunnel as his entire body shook, raucous cough-like laughs punctuating the silence.

That really shouldn't be that funny. And yet...

He controlled himself, craning his head around to look at the guy behind him and shaking his head. A painful smile stretched across his face as for the first time that day blue eyes lit up.

"What?"

One single dark eyebrow rose and the angle it held added an almost comedic turn to the plain face, though in other situations it could almost be demeaning in nature. In this instance though it waylaid the severity and sharpness of what was actually a very good looking face he was beginning realise now that the alcoholic cloud had began to dissipate from around him. Huh.

He rose his own two eyebrows and looked at the guy expectantly waiting for an answer while attempting to contain the laughter which was knocking from inside him, desperately wanting to be let out.

A deep breath was taken.

His lip twitched and he forced down a smile.

The mouth opened.

"In what exactly do you-"

He snorted before bursting out in laughter, cutting the voice off as he threw his head back, ignoring the spike of discomfort as he did so; only vaguely registering what seemed to be a rather offended look on the angular face as he grinned manically up at the ceiling. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes and he dropped his head before lifting a grimy hand to wipe at them, knowing that he would have just successfully left his left cheek smeared with subway grunge.

"You," he said when his amusement marginally subsided, running a hand through his hair and wondering which was truly dirtier at the moment. "You are, in fact, what is so _humorous_," he answered as primly as he could, flourishing the same hand around in erratic circle before letting it fall to the ground.

"Yes, I seemed to have gathered such a fact," came the dry answer in return. He chuckled, brining his legs up and knees bent to his chest before rolling over so that they were beneath him and he was directly facing the bench and its current occupant. The movement was so quick it not only surprised him, but the strange person now in front of him, who shifted backwards in the seat and seemed to tense as his hands came to rest on either on black pants. He grinned up at the pale face.

"Man, who _are_ you?"

The head before him tilted slightly, jaw tense.

"I am Spock."

His eyebrows shot up. Okay then. "Spock?" he clarified unbelievingly, peering at the guy closely, taking in the black clothes cut at sharp lines and in what appeared to be a tunic style and wondering he'd been off-planet lately.

"Yes."

"What the hell sort of a name is that?" he had to ask, moving so that he was positioned to the side of the legs and immaculate shoes, leaning his head on top of his hand, the elbow attached to it resting on the bench. He didn't want him running away or anything. The guy already looked about as skittish as a hunted rabbit.

The body relaxed noticeably, muscles un-tensing. "It is mine."

He rolled his eyes, letting his hand drop. Talk about shut down. "Nah_, _really_?"_ he muttered, resisting the urge to hit the leg. He turned so his back was against the cold metal slats of the seat, shivering slightly as the cold began to slowly return. He stared glumly out at the rails. So much for conversation.

Then again, his throat felt so scratched and sore that it was nearly raw. He coughed harshly, trying to rid it of the furry layers of alcoholic film which had gathered there through his escapades. The plans which weren't looking as awesome as they nearly had 24 hours ago when he'd first thought up the idea to get completely drunk and drown his sorrows. Somehow he was only just realising that such a thing only really worked in the vids. Reality sucked in that sort of way.

"Was elevating yourself such a wise idea?"

He shrugged half-heartedly. "Probably not." He rubbed a kink from out of neck. "But I have a train to catch and that's going to be rather hard if I'm unconscious and drooling on the floor, right?"

There was a silence.

"What is your destination?" The question was almost hesitant.

Ha. Yeah, that was _almost_ funny. He smirked up and around, the smile never reaching his eyes which went hard and cold. "There isn't one."

Dark eyes looked at him curiously, gaze flicking downwards before flitting back to his eyes. "Indeed?"

"Yeah," he said shortly turning back around and crossing his arms against his chest and the poor excuse for a piece of material which one may call a t-shirt if they were feeling particularly appreciative, dropping his head and bringing his knees up to fold them against his chest.

He could play cryptic too; very well in fact. That wasn't exactly a topic he wanted to get onto with a complete stranger. In fact, he'd rather be by himself at the moment. There was nothing good or wholesome about this side of him and as of such he generally hid it away from social notice and critique, playing the superficial hero's son instead. A masked persona which made him sick.

A breeze rattled through the station and hit him. He shifted uncomfortably, forcing his jaw not to tremble as the cold increased, making his skin prickle and setting his teeth on edge. A faint rumbling followed it, echoing to where he sat and his head instantly flew up, recognising the noise as what it was.

The train.

Thank God.

Though, that meant he would actually have to get up. Ah, hell. Maybe if he did it in levels it would be more manageable or something.

He sighed, listening as the noise became louder and louder, amplified by the darkened tunnel which cocooned the racket and reverberated into the station, letting the sound consume him for a moment as he shut his eyes and lent his head back. He breathed in deeply before expelling it out harshly.

He reached his arms behind him, hooking his fingers around metals fissures for all it was worth and using the remaining muscle power, if any, in his arms to heave his body up and into a rather sprawled sitting position on the bench. He resisted the urge to give a victorious cry because _that_ would be just slightly sad all things considered. There was time when he could run 5 km and only be puffed. Actually, he could probably still do that if he tried but he didn't have the proper footwear anymore and one shoe hardly counted as being efficient enough.

He centred himself for his next momentous movement, noticing as he did that the guy was no longer next to him but in front of him, standing up in all his black and clean leather shoe glory. He moved his gaze upwards.

"Are you in need of assistance?" A minute smirk graced the perfect lips.

Holy hell the dude was being cocky now.

He glared. "Seriously, man. Don't make me hit you."

"Please do not be offended by my pointing out that in your current state the possibility of such a thing occurring is not promising."

He groaned loudly. There was no way he was giving this guy the pleasure.

Keeping one hand bolted heavily to the back of the seat he slowly rose up, his legs protesting as he did. He fought off the incredibly promising idea of collapsing back down to a sitting position and instead rooted his feet to the floor and remained standing, hesitantly removing his anchored hand, and turning around, wobbling slightly as he did so.

Black material and a section of pale white skin forming a graceful neck hit his view. A frown flitted across his mouth. Huh. The guy, it seemed was taller than him by a few inches. Maybe...

He stood up straighter, pulling his shoulders backwards and tilting is head up.

Nope, still taller.

Damn.

He slumped dejectedly forward, eyes gazing at the floor as his head fell. He shoved his hands deep within his front pockets, slouching backwards and resting on the heels of his feet, grasping hold of some means of balance which seemed to be returning to him. He scratched his one shoed foot against the ground, wiggling the toes of his other to see if they hadn't been taken victim by frostbite yet. It wouldn't surprise him frankly.

After a moment he looked back up. Dark eyes were still looking at him, glinting in the shadows of the station and where the terribly fluorescent lighting made _him_ look sick, it did the complete opposite for the statue in front of him.

"Uh..." He shifted back slightly, eyes flicking over the tall shoulder, hearing as the train getting closer. It would be here any second. "It was..um..good to meet you?" he said and hated himself for how it came out more like a question. It wasn't like it was on purpose or anything.

The one eyebrow rose once more and the face remained blank. "Indeed."

He swallowed and plastered what he hoped was a friendly smile onto his face. "Yeah. So, ah...see you around?" he asked as happily as he could.

"That is not likely to occur as San Fransisco city has over 808,977 inhabitants and the possibility of encountering one singular individual simply by chance within that number has no merit whatsoever."

His smile fell. Oh God, he gave up already. "Whatever-," he muttered, moving past brushing his shoulder against the others for satisfactions sake and trying to walk as elegantly toward the boarding platform as he could. "-my train's nearly here anyway"

He walked forward, listening as the rattling sound of platinum-iron alloy railings were finally made use of. Nothing beat good old mechanics. He reached the edge and looked down to where it fell to the darkened track below that was powered by hydro electrically combined power circuits and fusion refractors. If anyone was interested he'd be able to tell them exactly how they worked. But no one was ever interested; thats how it worked around here. He turned his head, looking down the tunnel just as waves of vibration began to vacillate through the floor and the white aerodynamic head of the train appeared from around the corner.

His salvation had finally arrived.

It came closer and was a mere 50 metres away when a screech shrilled through the air without any warning. He gasped, stumbling as the high pitched noise ripped through him. He grasped his head and moaned, falling forward as he lost his equilibrium. His eyes clenched shut. Bloody hell! He'd totally forgotten it did that.

Warm fingers curled around his upper arm, and roughly heaved him backwards and away from the edge just as he felt a brush of cold air slide past him. The air tasted metallic and he heard the familiar sound of mechanical doors opening.

"You _are_ in need of some form of help and since you are incapable of deciding as such on your own, I myself shall do so for you."

The voice was low and rough and if he wasn't mistaken, just shy of angry.

What was it with this guy?

"Do you have a multiple personality disorder or something?" he asked, genuinely curious, keeping his eyes resolutely shut.

"No. However, I do have a respect for preserving life. Something you should enhance your skill upon."

He scoffed. "Well aren't we Mr Morality now," he said, but allowed himself to be pulled along and through the sliding doors by the slender yet surprisingly strong hands." Guh. Just leave me _alone_."

He just wanted a bed and some form of painkiller, not some guy who couldn't seem to get his priorities right.

"No."

A flitter of anger floated through him but he couldn't find the effort to maintain it.

"This is _so_ harassment," he muttered as he was all but shoved into one of the plastic chairs which lined the train's sides, feeling the absence of warm fingers as they left his arm. He leaned his head back against the glass window and relished the inside atmospheric warmth. He felt someone sit down next to him as the train began to move once more and slowly pick up speed.

"You may open your eyes now."

He laughed.

"What, and have the pleasure of looking at you?"

Not that the view would be _that _unpleasant.

He heard a nearly invisible sigh.

"What is your name?"

His eyes flew open and shot him a look. "What's _your_ name?" he threw back.

The guy seemed surprised. "I have already told you." The corner of his lip twitched slightly down. "Can you not recall as such?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, _yeah_. I got the whole 'Spock' thing but seriously, as if _that's_ a name?"

Dark eyebrows furrowed. "That is my name." Glinting eyes assessed him and a head tilted sidewards. "Why would it not be so?"

He looked right back into the eyes unwaveringly, expression deadpan. "It's not exactly a human name."

An eyebrow rose.

"I am not _exactly_ human."

* * *

Do you people no how hard it was to restrain myself from continuing : 'And how _long_ have you 'not exactly' been a human'?"...but then I might have just jumped of the nearest cliff quite contently.

Review Please!


	3. Chapter 3

For the absolutely wonderful, albiet slightly scary (but in a fantabulous 'get a move on' good way) **Neomeneomine**, an awesome writer whose name I can't say aloud without sounding like a complete idiot, or write without having to check no less than three times to make sure I spelt it correctly. She sets politics on fire!= Pure. Awesome. Gold.

~ooOOoo~

Jim slumped further forward in his seat and rolled his eyes. "Well _I_ could have told you that," he muttered, cupping his jaw in the palm of his hand and staring absently down the quiet confines of the train. What sort of normal person would actually use the subway at this time of night? Everyone knew it wasn't exactly safe, what with the cops not usually patrolling down so far. You could get all sorts skulking around in the gloom.

You just had to love sunny San Francisco state...

Jim snorted, ignoring the look he was given from the only other occupant of the train because of it.

Yes, he did notice the irony of his comment and situation. _He_ hadn't had much of a choice in the matter though. It was either the subway or sleeping in some dingy darkened alleyway out the back of some bar with rats and who knows what types of diseases.

Oh yes, he lived the high life alright.

He squeezed his eyes shut relishing in the momentary darkness and absence of his sorry excuse of a world around him.

Out of sight out of mind was a really lovely motto to live by.

Pity it didn't really work for everything.

It was rather difficult to be blind by choice.

He sighed heavily, blinking his eyes open and rubbing at the grit that had managed to glue them together in the few short seconds. His vision was started to become less blurry. Jim's shoulders dropped. Damn, he was starting to become slightly more coherent- probably not a good thing. With comprehension would come understanding, and with understanding would come the inevitable realisation that he'd just gone and been a complete and utter idiot again, all for a few drinks.

How much could you hate yourself before it became a clinical illness?

He turned around, rubbing his hand along his jaw and staring intently at the bolted down plastic chairs in front of him blankly. Man he hated the quiet, the silence. Some people found it comforting; he just found it down right unnerving unless he was the only one around. Even then he was prone to talk to himself. Made him look completely mad half the time but then, who wasn't?

Sane was _so _last year.

"So..."

Well, that got him another look, one which seemed mildly curious.

"You are..." he paused, flicking his gaze sideways and studied the man..._being _before him:

Harsh slanted eyebrows, pointed ears...hm.

"Romulan?" he asked, blue eyes sweeping up and down the lean body intently, tilting his head to the side to get a better look. Dark eyes followed his movements almost warily as if he was some sort of dangerous animal.

Even as he said it though, he knew he was wrong. He'd met Romulan's before. Oh yeah. The tough type who could drink you under the table while effectively emptying your pockets in a game of poker. They also seemed to have an endless fascination and love for body art which, Jim could not deny it, was sometimes some really awesome shit.

The man before him now was altogether too..._perfect _to be Romulan. And dude, when he said perfect he seriously meant..._perfect. _Like, shine your shoes, steam press your clothes, wash your hands ten times a day and not having a hair out of place, _freakishly_ clean _perfect_.

Jim paused, eyes still on the raven black hair. He mentally gave an eye roll. Right yeah, _of course._

A Vulcan.

What with that type of hair cut you could hardly miss it couldn't you?

The guy was looking at him again and Jim let a mischievous smirk slowly turn up his lips. He really couldn't help it. "Klingon?"

Dark eyebrows inched upwards. "No."

"Andorian?"

Eyes narrowed. "_No__._"

Jim bit his lip, the corner of his mouth twitching. Spock sat rigidly in his seat. His back was ramrod straight and his pale face completely devoid of emotion. For all intents and purposes he looked absolutely calm and content. It was really quite impressive for a member of the Vulcan race who, despite obvious denial of it, had such a bad case of 'pride' it was almost hubris for their culture.

Perhaps he hadn't realised that Jim's vantage point gave him a clear view of the canted jaw line which seemed just slightly too clenched to be natural though.

Jim smirked at the offending angle.

"Lenocan?"

"_No."_

"Gren-"

Dark brown eyes flashed angrily. "What I _am_ seems to be invisible currently or you have imbibed an excess amount of intoxicant as of late and logic has since deserted you."

Jim gave a bark of laughter.

"Oh, don't be like that Steven," he said, patting the shoulder next to him affectionately before throwing all caution to the wind and slinging his entire arm around it haphazardly, leaning into the warm body which stiffened instantly against his touch and attempted to shift away from him.

Jim didn't give an inch.

"It is _Spock_."

Jim shrugged his free shoulder and grinned cockily.

"Whatever."

It was officially piss-off a Vulcan day.

Which, all things considered, probably wasn't the most genius of ideas since the guy could probably snap him in half or something if he really felt like it. Though, he was pretty certain Vulcan's were a peaceful race or...whatever. Mmph. He really was too dead to form much of a coherent thought pasts few ideas.

"Please remove your person from my presence."

The Vulcan's voice was low and controlled, and yet, Jim could sense the otherwise impending annoyance and chaos hovering just beneath the surface almost sinisterly.

Oh and how he _welcomed_ it with open arms.

He could sense the danger; he could feel the threat lurking just inside the train. It made him feel _alive_. It was probably a combination of both the remainder of alcohol in his system as well as his standard self-destructive tendencies but man, was it _brilliant._

The epitome of emotional control was slowly losing control, like a burning fuse. How much more fuel could it take before the inevitable?

"Remove me yourself," he finally replied, breathing it into one of the elegant pointed ears. He watched in amusement as they flushed a light green and how deep brown eyes fluttered shut. The Vulcan's throat moved as he swallowed. Jim could feel the warm body moving with each deep breath which was slowing being taken in, one at a time almost painfully.

Controlled, constrained...

"I will ask you once more, _please_-"

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p' before laughing softly, silently daring the other man to react.

_I dare you._

The Vulcan's nostrils flared and his eyes flew open.

Searing hot hands roughly grabbed his wrists and pulled sharply; twisting Jims arms back, allowing the Vulcan to move out of the humans hold. Jim felt a slight crack as he was shoved back down into his seat, but he ignored it in favour of watching as those warm brown eyes quickly flooded black and cold like flint. They bore into him, sparked with anger and his own ice blue ones stared right back. He was never one to back down and he _always_ finished what he started. He jerked his chin up, glaring up into that perfect face which looked down at him.

_He'd already played with fire so many times..._

The pale fingers wrapped around the skin of his hands squeezed tightly as the Vulcan's eyes narrowed, a faint rumbling vibrating through him.

Was he actually...growling?

Jim tilted his head to the side, the corner of his mouth twisted upwards into a manic smile, eyes slightly unfocussed and glazed. He could feel emotion pulsing through him with fervour so fast that he didn't have time to tie one down and name it. Frustration though, oh yes, that was definitely there- absolute reams of it. And annoyance- though not just at him, _pity_, but at something else, something he couldn't quite pin down. Something...

Oh, yes. This Vulcan felt.

The raw emotion was beautiful, coursing through his veins, burning his blood. Jim's eyes fluttered shut against the turmoil. Oh how he wished he could feel like this. Not the dead and muted sense of living, eyes clouded by a constant alcoholic mist, which he'd become accustomed to. Just a pure, golden feeling of existence and reality.

_Please stay, _he wanted to say. It was the same pitiful voice of his eight year old self, watching as everyone around him left, not able to do anything as his brother and mother and everyone he cared for walked away.

The hands tore away from his wrists.

_No..._

Jim gasped, suddenly empty, as everything within him disappeared so quickly his eyes watered. His eyes whipped open to find the Vulcan on the opposite side of the train, crowded against the mechanical doors, all anger gone and staring at him wide-eyed, almost warily.

How emotive those brown eyes were; a sharp contrast to the rest of the much put together guy.

Jim laughed breathless, wiping a hand across his cheek. He let it drop, along with his head, beside the other which lay upon his jeans. His mouth twitched and he curled his fingers in harshly, squeezing until he felt his nails begin to dig into the skin with a pinching pain. He breathed in and relaxed them, watching the small white half moon crescent indents slowly fade as the pale digits unfurled from his palm.

Everything eventually faded.

He looked up and smiled sadly, eyes glassy.

"Having a bad day, _Spock_?"

"You wanted _this_?" The words were sharp and harsh, more a statement of blame than a question.

Jim's face dropped, all emotion gone.

"Wanted _what, _Spock?" He asked, almost spitting the words out. God, why couldn't this guy have left him alone in the subway?

The Vulcan regained his stiff standing position, clasping his hands behind his back and looking straight ahead at the metal wall of the carriage.

"You personally antagonised me to get a response."

The clenched jaw was back again, but for some reason it only seemed saddening now.

Jim scoffed and pushed the feeling down. He shook his head. "I antagonise everyone Spock. I assure you it's nothing _personal _per se."

The Vulcan stilled suddenly. He tilted his head and turned back towards him. "So you say..."

Eyes were assessing him. Jim shifted uncomfortably.

"What?"

He hated when people looked at him like he was some sort of science experiment ready to be dissected. It got him all jumpy.

"Why do seek danger?"

Jim froze, his entire body momentarily shutting down. His mind stalled.

"W-what?"

Spock stepped forward. Jim's hands began to sweat and he pressed them against the sides of the cold plastic seat he was sitting on.

"Why do you tempt danger? I had always presumed that the human species had a very adequate sense of survival. But you..," Spock trailed off and he moved forward again, dark eyes boring into him.

Jim jumped up nervously to his feet, wobbling slightly with a slight return of vertigo.

"..._you_ seem to encourage it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jim said, taking a step back when the Vulcan once more moved forward. The train carriage had suddenly become very small and confined. He didn't like being in places where he couldn't escape; one of his pet peeves. His eyes quickly flittered to all possible exists from his vantage point.

"I believe you do."

Jim shook his head and grabbed onto a metal pole in front of him when the train shifted on its railings. His eyes pleaded with the Vulcan in front of him. "No, I _really_ don't-"

A gasp cut of his words as a sharp pain suddenly travelled up his left arm as the carriage jolted again, twisting him at a wierd angle. His entire body caved in reflex and he collapsed to the ground. He landed on his knees and gritted his teeth against the burn which shot up his legs. He cradled the throbbing limb in his lap, staring down at it in confusion.

"-the _hell_?" A faint memory of his wrist cracking from moments before flittered through his mind.

He heard quiet footsteps and a shadow fell over him.

"You are hurt?"

It was almost painful to roll his eyes. "No shit, Sherlock," he managed to get out. Fuck, it hurt.

A pale hand came into view. "Allow me to-"

Jim all but threw himself backwards, landing in a painful heap against the nearest wall and putting at least one row of seats between himself and the Vulcan. He breathed heavily, feeling a cold sweat break out upon his forehead. "Stay the hell away from me man. Go psychoanalyse someone else."

Dark eyebrows crowded together in confusion as the Vulcan slowly withdrew his hand almost uncertainly, tucking it behind his back once more. "I did not mean to offend. It is only logical to help one in need."

"Go find your own help. You certainly need some," he shot back weakly. He leant his head against the wall behind him. "This multiple personality thing mustn't be good for you."

"This is the second time you have claimed that I suffer from a psychological human ailment." The Vulcan's tone was curious. "On what do you base these facts?"

Jim gave a bark like laugh, being careful not to jolt his arm. "You're kidding me right?"

"Vulcan's do not _kid._"

"Oh, go pull the other one."

The Vulcan blinked. "...the other one?"

Jim flapped his hand around lamely tracing the pattern on the train floor with his eyes. "Yeah, you know -" he looked up from the floor and chocked on his next words at the blatantly perplexed expression on the Vulcan's face. Laughter bubbled out from him and echoed off from the walls.

"I do not understand..."

Jim held his stomach as the laughter racked his body, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. After a moment he was left gasping for air, chuckling every now and again. He grinned up at the Vulcan with watery eyes. "Oh your face just then was absolutely_ priceless_. Total Kodak moment if ever I saw one."

Spock looked at him blandly. "And you are suggesting that _I_ am the one with-"

Jim's awareness pricked suddenly.

"Shh..._shh_." Jim held up a hand, effectively cutting of the Vulcan's words.

He looked around. Something was different. He closed his eyes promptly. It took him only a second to realise what it was.

He opened his eyes again.

"Can you hear that?"

He pretended like he was listening to something.

He actually could. But it was more a particular form of vibration made through the breaking pads on the train than an actual sound and he could only feel it because he was currently lying up against the wall.

Either way it was hilarious watching the other guy listening for an otherwise non-existent sound.

Spock paused. "I do not," he said after a moment.

Jim sighed happily, a smile on his face letting his eyelids flutter shut and the dark swamp him, feeling the beautiful mechanical movements of the train as it automatically followed his words to the letter. "Hydraulics disengaging, engine fluid decompressing, brake pads slowing increasing in pressure, speed decreasing, weight to velocity ratio stabilising, brake pads fully engaging _and_ 3..2..1."

The train slid to a stop.

The mechanical doors slid opened, letting fluorescent lighting filter through.

His eyes flew open, and he didn't miss the surprised look upon the others face. Man did he love to do that.

Jim squinted up at him from the floor with a grin. "This your stop?"

'Cause he didn't have a clue where they were. But then, he didn't actually have a destination in mind so..._meh_.

Spock looked down at him blankly, mouth slightly ajar. "Yes."

"Well go on then-" he jerked his head toward the exit. "Get outta here."

Spock seemed to snap out from whatever reprieve he'd just been in. His jaw tightened, dark eyes looking down at him intently. "You are injured. You cannot expect me to leave you here."

Jim rolled his eyes. "It's not _that _bad. Jeez, I'm not going to _die._"

Even if he did he doubted anyone would care too much. He'd brought this on himself.

Spock looked at him dubiously. Jim sighed. "Look, there's a better chance of me getting mugged, than whatever _this is _actually killing me." He scratched his jaw. "Then again, I don't exactly know what they would _take_ since I don't actually have any money or anything really valuable on me." He frowned. "Actually, now that I think about it, the only partially valuable thing I have is my name and even _that's_ a bit crap all things considered, "he said, momentarily forgetting where he was. He looked up.

The Vulcan's eyes were narrowed.

Woops.

Ok-ay, so obviously_ that_ was the wrong thing to say. Man, he hated his mouth sometimes.

He waved his good hand dismissively. "Look, forget that."

Dark eyebrows lowered. "I cannot simply_ forget_ things at will."

Jim glared at him. "Well _pretend _to_, _okay?"

Spock looked annoyed.

Jim tried to calm himself. He just wanted some peace and quiet and maybe some time to see what the hell was wrong with his arm. "If I ask nicely will you go away..._please?_"

The Vulcan looked down at him. "You may," he replied one eyebrow hitching up towards his hairline. "And I could."

Jim sighed, slumping down and closing his eyes. He smiled. "Awesome_._"

"However-"

Blue eyes whipped open and he glared.

"Oh, no, no, no Spock. There is no '_however_' here."

"- logic dictates that due to your injury your are further exposed to other crimes against your person as you suggested-"

"Hey, I didn't _suggest_ anything. I simply _implied._"

"-both of which mean primarily the same thing." Jim huffed. "Furthermore you are still mildly under the influence of an intoxicant and are also in the need of medical attention."

"Medical attention never really _did it_ for me, you know what I mean?" he cut in sarcastically.

Spock's eyes flashed. "Consequently, due to your obvious dismal of your health and well-being, I do not believe you are currently able to manage such a thing on your own-"

"I'm not bloody _suicidal _you know."

Spock stepped towards him. "-or are likely to do so."

Jim looked to the sky. "Oh holy mother of-"

An electronical _beep_ cut of him off. He recognised it as the warning signal for passengers to tell them that the train would be moving soon. Jim brightened, giving the Vulcan a false smile. "Oh look Spock, that's your stop!"

"I am not leaving."

The smile disappeared and he sighed heavily. "Look man, I appreciate the concern and everything, but seriously, don't make me get a restraining order, okay?"

Spock stared at him blankly.

"_Really,_" he insisted.

Spock blinked.

The door beeped again.

"Just _go_ damnit!_"_

The Vulcan's voice was calm and controlled. "No."

Jim stared at him a moment before huffing in annoyance and throwing his free hand in the air. "_Fine! _Stay here if you want."

The Vulcan looked mildly pleased.

"I shall."

Jim grinned evilly. "_I'll _go instead."

A flash of surprise crossed the unemotional face. Jim felt a sense of satisfaction shoot through him as he haphazardly heaved himself up from the floor, leaning against the wall for support. He swallowed heavily as the world spun slightly.

"I do not believe that would be advisable."

No, probably not, but Jim took a step forward away from the train wall anyway. He then shot the Vulcan a look. "I'll do whatever the damn I want thanks."

Before he knew what was happening he was being crowded back against the wall and he was staring once more into an expanse of pale smooth neck. He looked up. Coal black eyes stared him down.

"I do not understand your obvious disdain for my assistance."

He was too close. Jim felt trapped, his mouth went dry. He moved as far back as he could find any free space.

"I don't _want _your help," he snapped. He needed to _move. _He needed_ space._

Spock tilted his head, and his dark eyes swept down to the arm Jim still held cradled against his chest before they returned to his face.

"And yet regardless, you _are_ going to get it."

Jim used his good hand to push Spock's away. "Just– _go._"

The Vulcan didn't move. "No."

Jim hardly noticed when the train doors slid shut and it slowly began to move. Spock turned around and moved to sit down again. Jim allowed a moment to breath in relief for the new open space around him before stumbling after the Vulcan.

"What is your _problem_?"

"As of current-_ you_," Spock replied sharply, turning around to look at him pointedly.

Jim blinked. He worked his mouth but couldn't find any retort to throw back.

Jeez, talk about _blunt._

An eyebrow flicked up.

"Sit down."

"I'll stand thanks."

The Vulcan turned away from him, eyes riveted forward.

"It is your decision."

Jim feigned surprise. "Oh _really? _So you won't tie me to the chair if I refuse?" he drawled with mild amusement.

Spock tensed, hands tightening where they loosely lay on top of each other in his lap.

"I will not."

Jim looked at him, tilting his head slightly to get a better view. Ah, heck he almost felt sorry for the guy who looked so incredibly uncomfortable. Guilt shot threw him. He was only trying to be _nice_ after all and then Jim had to just go be his normal '_get the fuck out of my life'_ self since he wasn't wearing heels or lipstick.

Brilliant.

He really needed to create a better default setting.

He collapsed onto the chair next to the poor guy with a grunt as a sliver of pain shot through his arm. He ignored it.

"Hey."

Dark eyes flicked silently his way before promptly returning to their previous line of sight.

Jim looked at him curiously. "Yeah chuckles, I'm talking to _you_ not the wall," he said and then laughed. A confused look was shot his way so Jim turned so he was facing the Vulcan full on.

"I'm Jim," he offered, throwing the obligatory Vulcan greeting, fingers split down the middle.

Warm brown eyes widened in blatant surprise and Jim cracked a grin.

The Vulcan found his voice. "Excuse me?"

Jim's smile grew. "I'm Jim," he repeated. "I like long walks on the beach and candle lit dinners. I enjoy sappy, romance novels and anything atrociously pink."

The Vulcan stared at him.

Jim rolled his eyes. "Jokes aside, I can also be incredibly annoying and obtrusive, with no knowledge of personal space and have frequent self-destructive tendencies."

Spock didn't seem to know what to say. Jim seemed to do that to a lot of people. He returned the hand gesture almost uncertainly, slim, pale fingers parting. "I am...Spock."

Jim brightened. "Hey there!"

Spock kept staring as he dropped his hand.

Jim let his own hand fall as well and then patted Spock on the shoulder with the same one. This time the Vulcan didn't move away at the contact. "It's okay man, we'll work on your introduction some time. I'm sure it'll be awesome eventually."

"Indeed."

"Yeah." Jim leant back against the chair and ran his hand through his hair with a sigh. "So, here's a serious question for you Spock."

Spock looked at him curiously, apparently coming into grips with the human's erratic behaviour.

Jim raised his eyebrows in question. "Are all Vulcan's as stubborn as you, or do you just having a certain flare for it?"

The corner of Spock's mouth twitched upwards. "I believe that my father would say it was a particular trait I received from my mother."

"Damn, she must be one hell of a woman."

Spock tilted his head down in agreement before turning to sit back straight in his chair. "Yes, she is," he replied.

Jim shrugged. "Yeah well, I've never actually had the chance to meet any Vulcan women so I wouldn't really know what they're like and all," he said looking out the window into the pitch black tunnel as it sped past.

When he didn't receive an answer he looked back at Spock, his eyes instantly drawn to the small half smile which graced the Vulcan's lips. "Correct me if I'm wrong," he asked, slightly bemused. "But I feel like there's an in-joke in the room..."

Spock turned to him, eyebrow raised, eyes warm. Jim looked at him curiously.

"Indeed."


End file.
